


under the light of our mother moon

by Idday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Baby Fic, Baby Hale, Established Relationship, Father derek, Future Fic, Kid Fic, M/M, Uncle Derek - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 11:34:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,304
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4623849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Idday/pseuds/Idday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cora appears on his doorstep in early September, face determined and belly rounded. Her scent is still familiar, but it’s also changed, somehow: more complex, fertile.</p>
<p>“Cora,” Derek breaths.</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>He thinks the thought in full standing in front of his mirror, brushing his teeth, and the way it drops into his mind unannounced and unwelcome yet ringing with truth makes him freeze, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, toothbrush still hanging askew out of his mouth.</p>
<p>'I want to raise this child.'</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>“Derek,” Stiles says, in a faux patient voice that he uses when he thinks that Derek’s being particularly dense. “You think that this option didn’t pop right into my head when you first told me about Cora? Come on, babe, I know you. I was totally prepared for this. I’ve reconciled.”</p>
<p>...</p>
<p>OR: The one where Cora turns up pregnant, Derek decides to raise her baby, and Stiles is (happily) along for the ride.</p>
            </blockquote>





	under the light of our mother moon

**Author's Note:**

> Pretty much no warnings because this is a fluffy little baby fic where everything is right in the world.
> 
> A million thanks to the wonderful [Emela](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Emela/pseuds/Emela) for agreeing to beta read this one (and dealing with my massive amounts of technical ineptitude)--not only was she very helpful here, but she's a true gift to this fandom and one of my favorite authors, so if you like happy Derek Hale with your Sterek, go check her out (and be prepared to lose a few hours reading everything she's written). I DID go back and do some extra editing after getting it back, so any lingering mistakes are definitely mine.
> 
> Enjoy!

Cora appears on his doorstep in early September, face determined and belly rounded. Her scent is still familiar, but it’s also changed, somehow: more complex, _fertile._

“Cora,” Derek breaths.

“Don’t ask me who the father is, Derek,” she says, when he opens his mouth, “It doesn’t matter. You don’t know him. We’re both in agreement about what’s going to happen here, anyway.”

Derek opens the door for her, takes her bag, and watches her settle on his couch. She’s not really much heavier, yet. He almost wouldn’t be able to tell, if it weren’t for the scent and the subtle changes in the sound of her tread across his floor. She’s not that far along. Three, maybe four months.

“And what’s that?” Derek asks. He’s not mad, how could he be? They live entirely separate lives, and Cora’s an adult. But her here, and her pregnant, it makes something in him bristle and settle at the same time—a wild protective instinct calmed only by the sweetness of his pack. Of his family.

“I’m not raising this child,” she says firmly, and it’s clearly been decided. “I have never wanted to be a mother, and I don’t now. This was…” she sighs, and waves a hand in the air, “Werewolf biology defeats birth control again. And the father was—is—like us. There’s no way this baby’s going to be a human.”

“So adoption’s out,” Derek says at Cora’s meaningful silence.

“Exactly,” Cora says. “Honestly, I didn’t know I was coming here until I had bought the plane ticket. Instinct, I guess, to find my den.” Derek’s modest, tidy house is not her home, he knows, but she’s been transient for years, travelling as the urges strike her, and it’s the closest thing she has. _He’s_ the closest thing she has to pack, right now. “But I figure that you can help me reach out to some local packs, find someone to take the baby in.”

She closes her eyes, and looks for the first time young and unsure. Derek sits beside her tentatively, gently wraps an arm around her shoulder. Her altered scent is new to him, but not unpleasant, and she allows herself to sink into his embrace after a tense moment.

“Of course,” he tells his baby sister, “Whatever you need.”

…

Derek makes several calls, gets a few firm ‘no’s’ and a couple of ‘maybe’s.’ There’s a pack up in Oregon that seems the most likely match, one that has a female beta expecting a child of her own in five months, who would be willing and able to feed the infant herself, though she’s understandably reluctant to also raise it, considering that she’ll have a new baby of her own.

The Alpha thinks that they can work something out; they have another couple thinking about starting a family who may be willing to adopt.

It’s all very tentative, but the call ends on a hopeful note, and Cora’s satisfied when he tells her about the conversation.

Derek is less so.

He feels strange and has since she arrived, keyed-up, emotions and instincts heightened, and when Cora off-handedly remarks that it’s a short enough trip that they could drive up late in the pregnancy, so that she can deliver closer to the future parents, he starts shaking.

“It’s a good thing, Der,” Cora tells him, looking at him worriedly, “It’ll be good for the baby, to be raised in a pack. This is the best choice. The only choice.”

Derek agrees with her, of course. It doesn’t make him feel any better.

…

Cora’s five months along, starting to show, and Derek can’t stop thinking about her baby.

Can’t stop imagining the tremulous heartbeat, the sweet new scent, the reedy cries… and he can’t stop imagining how it might feel, to put his most vulnerable family into a stranger’s arms and watch them walk away with his niece or nephew.

Cora is as determined as ever to go through with it, and Derek admires her maturity, her calm in the midst of a situation he knows she never dreamed of finding herself in.

He’d never expect her to raise this baby, knowing it’s the last thing that she wants.

It’s always been Derek who feels the instinctual pull for family, who smiles into strollers in the park, who secretly wishes for a family of his own someday.

He thinks the thought in full standing in front of his mirror, brushing his teeth, and the way it drops into his mind unannounced and unwelcome yet ringing with truth makes him freeze, meeting his own gaze in the mirror, toothbrush still hanging askew out of his mouth.

_I want to raise this child._

He wants it, wants it all so badly he can hardly breathe, suddenly, wants the dirty diapers and the baby giggles, wants the tantrums and the first words.

He’s not stupid and he’s not naïve, he helped with his baby cousins and even Cora, knows that it won’t be easy or tidy or anything but challenging.

But the thought of handing this child over to strangers turns his stomach and catches in his throat and he closes his eyes in defeat.

_I want to raise this child._

…

He’s not sure how to broach the subject with Cora, or whether it’s cruel to do so, but she’s stirring sugar into a mug of decaf coffee and he can’t help it, has been thinking about it obsessively for a week now.

The alpha from Oregon had called him last night, had told him that everything was squared away, that the pack would find a way to incorporate this new baby into it, _“Though,”_ he had added right before he hung up, _“If the mother changes her mind, of course, that is understandable.”_

Cora hasn’t changed her mind, and won’t, and Derek hasn’t told her yet that her baby has a life waiting for it in Oregon, he can’t until she rejects his offer outright.

“Cora,” he starts, “I’ve been.” He has to stop, has to clear his throat. “I’ve been thinking, the past couple of weeks. About how it could work, if you decided not to give your baby to that pack up in Oregon.”

“Derek,” she says, “I haven’t changed my mind. If not the Oregon pack, then someone else. You could call your friends from New York.”

“I know you haven’t changed your mind,” he reassures her. “I know. But there might be someone closer. To here.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying,” he says, carefully avoiding her eyes, “That I know you don’t want to raise this baby. But it—he or she—they’re going to be pack for me, as well. They’re going to be my family, too. And I’ll understand if you want to choose the Oregon pack, or anyone else, really, I know that I don’t really seem like father material, but I… I’m saying that I would be honored to raise your baby. If that’s something that you would want.”

He’s imagined her reaction in a hundred different ways, everything ranging from laughter to tears—though both are equally unlikely, coming from Cora—but he has to admit that the stricken look on her face when he finally gathers the courage to look at her still stings.

“Derek,” she says, but he shakes his head, and interrupts, “Of course, I understand if you would be more comfortable with someone else, with a couple, or a full pack, I do understand, of course I do, I want what’s best for the baby more than—”

“Derek!” she says again, louder, “You have to know that I didn’t come here expecting this. I didn’t secretly want to convince you or guilt you into taking the baby, just because I know how dutiful you can be when it comes to your family.”

“No, Cora, of course I don’t think that. I didn’t even think about it, at first, it didn’t cross my mind when you first came. I just can’t help thinking about it recently and I didn’t know that I would but… I do want to.”

She comes around behind him where he’s seated at the dining room table, slings her arms around his neck and scents him, briefly. It’s uncharacteristic affection from Cora, more than he’s had from her since perhaps even the years before the fire, back when she was still a carefree little girl. Even in the weeks since she’s moved in, it’s been all brief and subdued—a hand through her hair, a quick half-hug. Nothing like this.

She gives him a squeeze, and straightens back up. “You’ve got a lot of shopping to do,” she tells him.

…

Cora’s only just hit the sixth month mark, and while a werewolf’s gestation does tend to be shorter than a human’s, it’s only by a matter of days or weeks, nothing too noticeable to the human doctors, but suddenly three months doesn’t seem like enough, now that it’s _real._ Now that Derek has to prepare his home—and himself—to raise a child.

He’s been working freelance and from home the past few years, doing translations for various clients, nothing he can’t put aside when the baby comes, which is a small miracle.

Thank God he’s moved out of the loft, at least, bought himself a small but safe home in the suburbs a few years back, at Stiles’ insistence.

And that’s another thing, isn’t it?

Stiles knows about Cora, of course, knows about the baby and that she’s been living with Derek during her pregnancy. He hasn’t been up to visit, personally, since he’s been so busy in his last year of college, and since Derek’s been busy, too, with Cora around.

But. He had also known that the plan was for adoption, which had changed only yesterday.

Derek needs to tell him, obviously. They’ve been dating for three years now. Derek was even planning on asking him to move in, when he graduates, since Stiles is coming back to Beacon Hills anyway. He’s already got a desk with his name on it at the Sheriff’s station.

He’s more scared to tell Stiles than he was to tell Cora, almost. Not that he thinks Stiles is going to react badly, necessarily, or break up with him on the spot, but then, who could blame him? This baby isn’t going to just change Derek’s life, it’s going to change Stiles’, too, if he decides to stick around, and he hadn’t even had a say in the matter.

Derek does harbor a certain amount of guilt for not even discussing it with him, first, had never even conceived of somebody whose needs and desires he could possibly put above Stiles, but now there’s a child in the picture. _His_ child. He doesn’t love Stiles any less, doesn’t value him any less, but things have changed. As his mother had always said, parenthood is about re-prioritizing.

So Derek can’t bring himself to regret wanting to raise the child, and he won’t change his mind as surely as Cora won’t change hers, even faced with the mind-numbing terror that it may cost him the love of his life.

But it’s a hard reality that he hopes he won’t have to face.

…

Of course, Stiles surprises him, as he so often does.

He’s _calm._ He just says, “Okay,” when Derek finally stutters out, “I’m keeping Cora’s baby,” like it doesn’t concern him in the least.

“Stiles,” Derek says hesitantly. He’s not trying to look a gift horse in the mouth, but this is _big._ Maybe Stiles just hasn’t processed the magnitude of it all yet. “This is going to change things. I mean, there’s going to be a newborn in the house. I’m going to be a single parent, I won’t have as much time for…”

_You,_ he can’t quite bring himself to say.

“Derek,” Stiles says, in a faux patient voice that he uses when he thinks that Derek’s being particularly dense. “You think that this option didn’t pop right into my head when you first told me about Cora? Come on, babe, I know you. I was totally prepared for this. I’ve _reconciled._ ”

“That’s.” Derek says, and breathes out harshly. “I didn’t know until two days ago.”

“Well, I know you better,” Stiles says cheerfully. “Derek, listen to me. I’m in this, okay? I was when I first left for school and we were all freaked out about doing long distance. I’ve been in this since the nightmares and the panic attacks—yes, I’m talking about both of us—I’ve been in this since all the sex hang ups and the fights. I’ve especially been in this since we _resolved_  the sex hang ups and worked out the fights. I can’t wait to come home to you. And you being all adorable with a little baby is frankly a bonus. I’m not going to lie, this is sooner than I thought we’d start a family, but I always knew I wanted this with you. So cool it on the single parent thing, okay? I mean, I know it will be like that at the beginning, and it’ll be tough, but you’re fooling yourself if you think I’m not spending time with baby Hale whenever I can, especially once I can actually move back to Beacon Hills.”

Derek is feeling almost _hopeful¸_ which is more frequent now than it was a few years back, to be sure, but something about it is still always a little weird for him. It doesn’t quite sit right in his chest.

“You’re a twenty-two year old, soon to be recent college graduate,” he says cautiously. “Wouldn’t you rather be… I don’t know, out?”

“Derek,” Stiles says warningly. “One, I’m not exactly a party animal. And two, you have a whole pack, you dumbass, and you know they’ll all be back when they graduate in the spring. What do you think they’re for? You’re not going to be house-bound for eighteen years. If you let Scott get his hot little paws on your child, you’re never getting him or her back. And fun fact of the decade, my dad is surprisingly good with children. He even successfully raised one of his own, believe it or not. Once he gets his head wrapped around the quasi-grandchild part, he’ll be begging you to let him babysit. So don’t act like our life as a couple is dead yet, okay? Are you out of excuses yet? Because I’m still coming home to you in the spring. You’re stuck. Sorry, boo.”

“I—,” Derek laughs now. Out of relief, maybe, or just because he can’t help it, not with Stiles. “I was going to ask you to move in,” he confesses, “When you came back to Beacon Hills.”

“Hmmm,” Stiles says, “And there’s an obstacle to that, now?”

And Derek laughs again, loud enough that Cora shouts up the stairs, “What’s wrong?”

“Stiles,” he says, when he catches his breath, “There’s going to be a baby here. An infant.”

“Yeah? And?”

“How ‘bout the fact that you’re going to have a full time job—one with strange hours—and that babies cry often and don’t sleep through the night? You’re going to need to focus on your job and not somebody else’s baby.”

“Not somebody else’s,” Stiles says warmly. “Yours. And if it makes you feel better, we can cross that bridge when we get there. Unfortunately, I still have months before I can come back home. But I have to tell you, and this is kind of embarrassing, but I’ve basically been looking forward to living with you since, like, our second date. So. Like I said. You’re kind of stuck, here.”

“I—” Derek says, and has to swallow hard before he can continue. “I love you,” he says, because that’s all there is to say.

“I know,” Stiles jokes, and then sobers, “I love you, too. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving, okay?”

When Derek goes downstairs to fix dinner, Cora claims that his feelings are making her nauseous.

…

Derek tries not to make too much fun of Cora the first time she really feels the baby kick, although it’s hard, because she startles and swears, and also because they’re sitting in the McCall’s living room, watching the Lions loose the football game that nobody’s invested in on Thanksgiving Day.

But the ways she glares at him tells him that if he laughs, she will not hesitate to tell everybody how he cried—not even cried, just teared up a little bit—the first time he realized he could hear the baby’s heartbeat, so.

He restrains himself.

“Are you okay?” Stiles asks with no small amount of alarm. He and Cora have gotten on surprisingly well since he’s been home, which is comforting both because Stiles has barely left Derek’s house since he arrived home two days ago and also because. Well. Stiles is basically going to be helping to raise her child.

“Fine,” she grits out, with a meaningful glare at Derek. “She just kicked. Hard.”

“She?” John says, perking up, “Do you know?”

“I don’t _know_ know,” Cora says. “We haven’t asked to find out. But I feel like I know, anyway.”

Melissa nods knowingly. “A lot of moms know,” she says, “Although, obviously, there’s a margin for error there. I thought Scott was a Stella until he popped out.”

“Mom!” Scott says, nose wrinkled.

“Well, Claudia was right about Stiles,” John says, “I remember very clearly. I was the one who thought it was going to be a girl, and she fought me every time. And she was right, of course.”

“My mom always said that she knew, with Laura and me,” Derek says quietly, “I remember because she thought Cora was going to be a boy, and she was surprised to be wrong after getting it right the first two times.”

“I don’t remember that,” Cora says softly, and the room sinks for a moment into melancholy, everybody lost in remembrance.

Finally, John clears his throat. “Have you thought about names at all?” He says briskly.

Cora and Derek exchange glances. “We have, a little,” She admits, “We decided to go with something we both liked. But we’d rather not tell, if that’s alright. It’s sort of… tradition. We believe that names have power. Usually, nobody but the parents know, and they won’t say it out loud in front of strangers until her first full moon.”

“I understand,” Melissa says kindly. “We didn’t tell anyone Scott’s name until he was baptized. My grandmother insisted. She was always superstitious. When are you due, again?”

Cora rolls her eyes. “Well, my human OB/GYN thinks mid-February, which probably means sometime in January. We tend to deliver a few weeks earlier than humans. I didn’t even want to deliver in a hospital at first, but Derek’s probably right. It will be easier.”

“I haven’t attended a delivery in a long time,” Melissa says, “But if you want, I can try to change shifts that day. It may be easier, in case of any complications of the supernatural variety.”

Cora looks surprised. She’s never been very close to Melissa, or to any of Derek’s pack, really. But whether it’s because they’re supportive of her as his sister or just as a young, surprised mother… well, he supposes that it doesn’t really matter.

“I’d like that,” Cora says, her voice surprisingly soft. “Although I am bringing my own painkiller along, so that should help.” She elbows Derek in the stomach, and he ruffles her hair in retaliation.

She single-handedly eats half of the turkey.

…

Cora’s right about everything, it turns out.

She’s right about the January date—January 21—and she’s right about the baby being a girl.

And she’s right about the painkiller thing, too, though Derek is glad that it’s a quick labor, because there’s only so many times he can re-heal his broken hand and still pull some of the pain from her veins.

Cora cries when she holds her baby, which he doesn’t expect. But then, he cries too, so they’re even.

Derek does think that she’s having second thoughts, for a moment—about leaving him with her daughter, that is—until she wails, “I’m so glad I get to be the fun aunt!” and buries her head back into his shoulder where he’s perched on her bed, trying not to jostle the baby.

Within fifteen minutes, they’ve carted her to the nursery and the papers are signed and Derek…

Derek is a father.

It all happens in such a rush, that it doesn’t quite hit him until he sits down to call Stiles, Cora snoozing peacefully in the hospital bed.

“I’m a father,” he says, dumbfounded, when Stiles answers with a bleary, “’Lo?” and Derek only then realizes that it’s four in the morning.

“What?” Stiles says, more awake now, “What, it happened? You were supposed to keep me updated! You were supposed to call me from the car on the way!”

“There wasn’t time,” Derek says, semi-hysterically, “I had to drive her here and then they put her in a delivery room right away. Melissa barely got up to the maternity ward in time. It was so fast, Stiles, but they’re okay, and I—Stiles, I’m a dad now. What do I do?”

“You’ll be great,” Stiles says, calmer now, always in his element when he’s comforting Derek. He had even made a rule during their first year together that only one of them is allowed to freak out at a time. Apparently becoming a parent means that it’s Derek’s turn. “Remember, you read all those books? You’ve been ready for weeks. And besides, you’re going to be a natural. You’re going to be great.”

“Stiles, she’s… she’s so tiny. And so beautiful. I can’t believe that she’s real. She doesn’t look real, she looks too perfect. I mean, well, she’s still kind of red, and squirmy, but she’s just so beautiful.”

“Wait, she? It’s a girl? She’s a girl? I was right! Scott owes me fifty bucks!”

“I should be so mad that you bet on my daughter,” Derek tells him, but they’re both laughing. It’s the first time he’s said it. _My daughter._ “But I’m… I’m so happy.”

“The full moon’s on Saturday,” Stiles says, “I’m coming home. No, don’t say anything. I need to meet her. And that’s when you’re naming her, right? Under the light of the full moon, or whatever? There’s no way I’m missing that. I can’t wait to see you. And to meet her. Ugh, I wish I was there.”

“You will be,” Derek says, and he’s still laughing, but now he’s crying again, too. It’s probably because he’s so sleep deprived. Or because he’s just so happy, and yet the world has never looked bigger or scarier, now that there’s this tiny, perfect thing that exists in it. “I wish you were here, too. I should tell you to stay at school, but I can’t. I need you to be here for it. It wouldn’t be right without you.”

“Time will go so fast,” Stiles says, “At least for you. I’ll be there before you know it.”

Melissa steps into view then. “Derek?” she says softly.

“I have to go, okay?” Derek says hastily into the phone, “I love you.”

He waits for Stiles to say it back before he hangs up.

“I just wanted to let you know that we’ve got her all weighed and measured, and she’s happy in the nursery. We’re going to keep them here overnight, but they’re both very healthy. You can take her home maybe as soon as tomorrow. We usually like to keep new mothers for longer, but,” She shrugs, “Cora’s obviously well on her way to healed already, and there’s no other reason that you can’t take your baby as soon as possible.”

“Thank you,” Derek says earnestly. There’s something in her smile, around her eyes, that makes his throat go tight. He wishes so badly that his own mother was here, that Laura could hold her niece, that his father could tell her one of his famous bedtime stories…

“And Derek,” Melissa says softly, “I took her name down, for the birth certificate. I won’t tell anyone until you’re ready, of course, I won’t say it out loud, but I think it’s a beautiful thing.”

“Thanks,” Derek says again. “I—Thank you.”

Melissa pats him on the shoulder. “Why don’t you get some sleep, honey,” she says, “You’re going to want it over the next few months.”

…

The next week does pass quickly, albeit in a sleepless haze of diaper changes.

Cora helps, of course, but she also seems perfectly content to let him take charge. Which is only fair, since as far as they’re both concerned, her part is done. She’s made it clear that after the weekend—after the full moon—she’s planning to leave. “I’ve got friends to see in Peru,” she says vaguely, the one time Derek asks. “But don’t worry, I’ll keep in touch. And I’ll be back to see her. She’s got to know her fun Aunt Cora, right?”

Her voice softens when she says, “You’re really great with her. I’m glad I’m leaving her with you, that I can still see her and be part of her life. And I’m so glad you’ll have each other.”

John takes her on Wednesday afternoon while Derek sleeps for five blissful hours, and Scott, who stayed local for school, drops by at the oddest times (not that it matters, since Derek’s always awake anyways), claiming that he wants to help with an earnesty that’s as unsurprising that it is endearing, but his propensity for calling her “baby girl,” in the absence of a name makes Derek nudge him out the door after a few hours each time, especially since he seems to mostly want to hold her, and pales at her warbling cries, or the thought of a diaper change.

And Stiles calls, every night, and insists that Derek hold the phone somewhere near the baby while he babbles senselessly for a few minutes.

“We’re way behind,” Stiles tells him matter-of-factly, when Derek voices his opinion on exactly how ridiculous it is, “Babies can hear in the womb, you know. I should have been talking to her months ago. You got a head start. I want her to recognize her Uncle Stiles’ voice!”

“Please don’t call yourself Uncle Stiles,” he says. “Scott wants to be Uncle Scott and Cora wants to be Aunt Cora but you’re… you’re not Uncle. Just. It’s too weird.”

“Well then what am I?” Stiles says, not a little bit petulantly, “I want to be something!”

“You’re more than something,” Derek says, “And you’re going to be more than Uncle. So can you just be Stiles, for now?”

Because Stiles still hasn’t budged on the moving in thing, despite various protests from Scott, the Sheriff, and Derek himself.

So by the time Stiles pulls his decrepit, but amazingly still-functional jeep into the driveway on Friday afternoon, it’s been both the longest and the shortest week of Derek’s life.

He answers the door holding the baby, and when Stiles approaches, cooing, “Hello!” Derek knows better than to think it’s for him.

“She’s sleeping,” he says softly.

Stiles is apparently speechless, and Derek can count on one hand the amount of times that he’s seen that happen.

“She’s so—” he finally manages, and Derek just says, “I know.” Stiles reaches hesitantly out to smooth the back of one long finger softly down the petal-soft skin of her arm.

And Derek immediately realizes that Stiles plus his daughter is clearly going to be a problem for him.

…

“Where did you get anything this tiny?” Stiles mutters, holding the miniscule coat up speculatively.

“They sell coats for newborn babies, Stiles,” Derek says, but he can’t muster anything but fondness in his voice.

“But it’s so tiny!” he says, voice going all high and squeaky to scoop up the baby from her cradle where she’s just opening her eyes. He handles her like a glass object, hand studiously behind her head, and Derek has to look away. “Because you’re so tiny!” he continues softly, “So tiny and perfect!”

“You can dress her, if you want,” Derek says, “It’s almost time.”

“I can, and I want,” Stiles says. “We’re bros, after all.” Stiles is immensely proud of the fact that the baby still hasn’t cried in his arms. Scott can’t boast the same record. Derek certainly can’t, though he comforts himself with the knowledge that he’s held her the most, and so statistically speaking, it doesn’t mean he’s a horrible parent. Yet.

“I hope you’re not planning on being out there too long,” Stiles says, carefully guiding a dainty arm in to a tiny sleeve, “I mean, it’s California, but it’s still January. It’s hella cold. Sorry, baby. It’s very cold.”

“It’s just a few minutes,” Derek tells him. “I was born in December and my parents blessed me then, and I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you are,” Stiles says, grinning at him with a familiar near-leer that Derek still can’t help but smile at, God help him. He quickly refocuses on his task, though, and asks, “So, explain this mystical moon magic to me?”

“It’s not magic,” Derek says slowly, “Not exactly. It’s just. The full moon is important to us, not just because it’s when we most want to shift, but symbolically. She’s still too young to shift, but she will before too long. It’s more like asking for the baby to be blessed by Mother Moon, and exposing her to part of our history and traditions. And each different full moon is supposed to have different meanings, is supposed to say something about your character or personality. The full moon you were blessed under has particular significance.”

“So, January?” Stiles asks.

“It’s the Cold Moon. It’s a good moon, a fresh start. Protection and spirituality.”

“And what about December?” Stiles asks him. The baby is dressed now, covered head to toe with only her little face peeking from the hood of her warm fleece jacket. Still, Stiles reaches for her blanket to bundle her more.

“The Long Nights Moon,” Derek says, “It’s… endurance. Both hardship and hope. It’s when the longest nights of the year are, around the solstice. All that darkness. But it’s also when the nights start to get shorter, when spring is closer than fall. You’ve made it through the darkest parts of the winter, and sunshine and warmth isn’t far ahead.”

“That’s.” Stiles swallows, and stands. Careful of the baby, he leans over to kiss Derek, slow and sweet. “That’s really beautiful,” Stiles says, and then clears his throat. “So do you hold her up to the moon like Simba, or…?”

And while he almost wishes that he could, Derek can’t keep from laughing.

…

Much as Derek insists that Cora provide the blessing—it’s her right, as mother—she is equally adamant that he do it.

They fight more over this, each insisting that the other have the honor, than they did over her name, or the colors for the baby room, or any other single event either before or after her birth.

Finally, unsurprisingly, Cora wears him down.

They all step into the backyard, Stiles and John, Scott and Melissa, Cora and Derek and his daughter. The rest of the pack couldn’t make it back from their respective schools, but they’ve all sent along their well wishes.

The baby’s already drifted back to sleep, squirming only slightly at the chill in the air, and Derek cradles her in his arms, watching the sweep of moonlight across her peaceful face.

“Under the light of our Mother Moon,” he says quietly, solemnly, only half remembering the words from Cora’s own blessing, “I bless you and name you Talia Selene.”

Stiles gasps a little, and Cora smiles at him, lays a supportive hand on Derek’s free elbow. It had been five months in, Cora laying on the couch with her head on his lap, his hand on her stomach, hoping for a kick that neither of them had felt yet. “Would you let me name it after mom or dad?” she had asked him. “I know I didn’t know them very well. Some days, I can hardly remember them. But they were our parents, and they were good people, and it seems… right.”

“I—” Derek had said, “Yes, of course, whatever you want.”

“As long as you like it, too,” she had said, softly. He had stroked a long, soft piece of her hair, and then said, hesitantly, “Laura always used to joke… but it wasn’t a joke, really. She told me once that she was going to name her first daughter Selene. But that was her sense of humor, I guess.”

And after that, there had never been any other options.

There’s only one more part left, now, and Derek says it with growing confidence, “I welcome you to my territory as Alpha, and offer you the protection of my pack and my person as long as you so desire.”

“Well,” Cora says, smiling, when his words die away and the spell of the quiet, pale moonlight is broken, “I’m going to go make hot chocolate.”

“If you don’t think that I’m going to call her Tally,” Stiles says, following him back towards the warmth of the house, “You are gravely mistaken.”

But Derek had resigned himself to it months ago, so he just gives Stiles a cold, January kiss and ushers him inside.

…

So Cora goes to Peru and Stiles goes back to school and Derek stays in Beacon Hills and it’s…

Well, it’s tedious, frankly. Babies don’t _do_ much, not this young, and he’s still running mostly on Tally’s sleep schedule and feeding schedule and not doing much besides being with her all day and all night.

Which is pretty much what he expected. And there are truly wonderful moments. He feels like he’s rediscovering the world right along with her, like he can finally see all the color and all the happiness that others seem to see around them, that he hasn’t truly seen in years. But when his baby girl looks at a plush fox like it holds the greatest mysteries to the universe… it makes all the good a little easier to see.

So it’s not glamorous. But he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

She’s starting to smile and laugh more now, she can recognize his voice and look him in the eyes. She’s starting to be able to roll herself over and once she sits up, if only for a few seconds. Derek never thought he’d be the kind of person to be buoyed through his day on one bright, shining moment of somebody else’s happiness.

But he was wrong.

Stiles still calls, frequently, whenever he has five or ten minutes—walking to class, after lunch, right before he falls asleep. Derek always answers of course, he doesn’t exactly have other plans, these days.

Not that Derek’s complaining, of course. It’s his favorite part of the day, when he puts the phone on speaker so that Stiles can listen to Tally coo at his voice for a few minutes. And the things that Stiles says to her… well, they’ve gotten Derek through more than one of Talia’s rougher days.

“You’re the luckiest little girl in the world, you know,” he tells her one day when she’s been crying for about six hours, “Your daddy has the most sensitive ears of anybody that I know, but I bet he hasn’t put you down all day, has he? I don’t know if you’ve figured it out yet, but he loves you a whole lot. Not surprising, because you’re beautiful and awesome. But your daddy is the best person at loving that I’ve ever met, even if he doesn’t always say it. He’s never going to let a thing hurt you or make you sad. I think that makes you a pretty lucky little werewolf, Tally.”

And if Derek’s eyes are wet when he hangs up the phone—well, it’s not _only_ out of pure relief because Tally’s finally settled, but he’ll never tell.

And Stiles enforces mandatory skyping, when he has more time to sit down with his computer. Because, as he argues, Tally can’t forget his face, okay? And she needs to hear his voice as often as possible. And besides, who’s going to teach her to call Derek “Daddy,” if he won’t, because he knows that Scott thinks it’s too weird and Derek won’t talk about himself in the third person.

And occasionally, Stiles skypes him after he puts Tally down for the night.

Because they may live five hours away from each other, and Stiles may be racing to graduate, and Derek may be a new father.

They still have to keep their relationship alive, after all.

…

In hindsight, deciding to bring his five-month-old (barely) on an extended road trip was possibly not the best idea.

On the other hand, it’s Stiles. _Graduating._ So what choice did he really have?

Initially, it doesn’t go nearly as badly as he thinks it might—Tally loves car rides, and she’s still a huge fan of naps, so the first few hours go okay as she dozes happily, and Derek is hopeful that he’ll make it to Berkeley without any major meltdowns.

A hope which is soon thwarted by an ear-piercing shriek, which makes Derek say a word that he’s ashamed to have said in front of his child.

But she’s not hungry and she’s not wet and she just woke up, so Derek is resigned to the fact that she’s suffering from one of the moments she unfortunately seems to have inherited from her mother, of being contentious just for the hell of it.

Well, that, or she’s just a baby trapped in a car.

Derek doesn’t have much of a singing voice, but she drives him to _lullabies._ Because he’s on a schedule, and considering the fact that she’s throwing a tantrum, that there’s nothing he can do for her, he doesn’t really have a choice except to keep driving, and to keep wishing he would have let Melissa babysit for the night back in Beacon Hills, like she offered to do.

Except he couldn’t have, because Stiles had looked so put out at the thought of missing seeing Tally—he has to stay down in Berkeley for a few more weeks to wrap things up—that Derek couldn’t bear to disappoint him.

And he’s still protective of her, besides. He doesn’t care if Melissa is a nurse and a mother. He’s never spent the night away from his baby girl before, and now is not the time to start.

So by the time that Derek rolls into the parking lot and spots John milling awkwardly about, he’s a frazzled bundle of nerves, only compounded by the fact that he hasn’t seen his boyfriend in person in something like four months. At least Tally, miracle of miracles, has fretted herself into another light slumber.

So at least his future father-in-law won’t think he’s a total mess. Or a horrible parent.

“Hello, Derek,” John says, and then ducks to see Tally in her carrier, and coos at her. And yes, it’s still incredibly strange to see the Sheriff, normally so professional and stern, wiggle his nose at a baby.

“How was the trip,” John asks knowingly, watching Derek struggle with the carrier, a diaper bag, and an umbrella. Because it’s sunny, and Tally has sensitive skin.

“Oh, fine,” Derek says, but even he can tell he’s lying.

“Don’t miss those days,” John says genially, but he takes the umbrella from him anyway. “So the seats Stiles got us are down in the front section. I traded them for aisle ones, though. I figured you might need to step out at some point in this ceremony, which Stiles informed me would clock in at, and I quote, ‘a surprisingly short two and a half hours.’”

Derek tries not to roll his eyes. It’s just that he absolutely does not care about a single other person here. He doesn’t need to hear six versions of nearly identical speeches, and watch thousands of strangers shake hands. From the grimace on his face, John feels the same way.

But it’s important to Stiles, so here he is, baby and all.

Which turns out to be a blessing in disguise, because as the keynote speaker drones on, pushing the twenty minute mark, it turns out to be a perfectly valid excuse, when his baby wakes from her nap and starts mewling in the ominous way that precludes a screaming fit, to just _leave._ Other audience members actually seem grateful when he does. And after he’s fed his baby, there’s absolutely no rule saying that he has to go back there and listen to more speeches. He can hear everything over the loudspeaker anyway, so he spends half an hour playing peek-a-boo instead, switching to blowing raspberries on Tally’s stomach when she seems to figure out that he’s always hiding behind his hands.

Which is infinitely more enjoyable than commencement.

Not that he would ever tell Stiles.

He figures that the Sheriff is on to him by the look he gets when he slips back into his seat as “Sanders, Kevin,” receives a diploma, which is a mixture of approval and irritation, presumably for leaving John behind, but John won’t rat him out. Probably.

“Did I miss anything interesting?” Derek asks innocently. Tally coos, and blows a bubble.

But the important thing is, he gets to see Stiles walk, and it’s worth the five hour drive and the long, boring ceremony, because he looks so happy up there, and because he blows the three of them a kiss when he spots them in the crowd, and because they actually announce him as “Stiles Stilinski,” rather than his unpronounceable legal name, which heavily implies bribery and/or blackmail.

But it’s Stiles, and so it’s always going to be worth it.

And he even stops regretting bringing Tally on such a hellishly long trip when he sees how excited Stiles is to see her.

“You’re so big, princess!” he says, lifting her out of her carrier and settling her on his hip, “Oh, I missed you so much! And I bet you missed me! Yeah, you remember me, don’t you?”

Derek tries not to resent the fact that his own welcome is lukewarm in comparison. It helps when Stiles leans in and tells him, mortarboard jabbing into Derek’s forehead, “I got dad to agree to watch Tally tonight. He’s been desperate to anyway, and I told him it could be his graduation present to me.” He winks, lecherously, as though Derek might have missed his meaning.

“And my graduation present,” John grumbles, “Is never hearing anything about it ever again.”

So Derek forgives him for preferring his daughter over him—because who wouldn’t really?—and smiles, and takes the picture of Stiles in his cap and gown, grinning at Derek’s angelic daughter as she pulls curiously on the tassel of his cap.

It quickly becomes his favorite picture.

…

And yes, the graduation present does make the whole trip worth it. Especially when Stiles shows Derek the presents that Stiles bought _him_.

…

Derek sees Cora, mostly, when he looks at his daughter.

It makes him worry sometimes that the memories of his other family members are slipping away, that he’s starting to forget what they all looked like, sounded like, _were_ like. They lost even pictures in the fire, so there’s really no way to remember.

But they are there, if he looks hard enough. His mother’s in the wisdom and stillness of Tally’s gaze in the moments when she locks eyes with him, his father’s in her chubby, laughing cheeks. Laura’s there, always, in the mischievous grin she likes to wear right before she disobeys.

Stiles tells him that he’s there, too, in her luminous, kaleidoscope eyes, and Derek tries to believe him.

He wonders, occasionally, whether he doesn’t see Tally’s father because he doesn’t know what to look for—whether it would all make sense if they ever met—or whether the Hale line won out, this time. He tries not to dwell, because it doesn’t matter anyway. But he does wonder.

And he wonders, while Stiles is busily trying to teach her to talk, pointing at things and repeating names over and over, whether it will ever matter to Tally, not knowing her real father. Growing up calling him daddy, and finding out it’s a lie. He knows it probably will, to some extent, but he hopes that she’ll decide it doesn’t matter as much as he fears it will.

And it helps that he’s not going at it alone, too. He’s got Stiles, who’s… well, he still doesn’t know, exactly. Something more than an ‘uncle,’ something much more like another parent, but he and Stiles haven’t discussed it since he moved in. Derek doesn’t know if it’s something that Stiles would want, Talia growing up thinking of him as her father, too. If it’s something he’s even considered.

Derek would be lying if he said he hadn’t been thinking about it, though, at least in a general, theoretical sort of way.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Stiles tells him, nudging Derek’s knee with his shoulder while he sits on the couch, pensive, as Stiles plays with Tally on the floor. He’s still in his deputy uniform—Tally likes his shiny badge, and she still isn’t tired of it even after him coming home in his uniform for almost three weeks. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Derek says, running a free hand through Stiles’ hair. “Just thinking about her dad, I guess. I’ve never met him. I doubt she ever will. I was just wondering if she’ll care. Or whether she’ll be mad when Cora and I tell her the truth. Whether she’ll understand.”

“ _You’re_ her dad,” Stiles says firmly. “You’re raising her. You love her. That’s what matters.”

“Yeah,” Derek says.

“I’m right, aren’t I, baby?” Stiles coos, scooping Tally up and plopping her on Derek’s lap. “There’s daddy! There he is!”

And Derek knows that she doesn’t understand what they’re saying, not really. But it’s gratifying, still, the way she babbles excitedly at the sight of him.

…

“I think she likes your stubble,” Stiles mumbles, one eye peeking out of his pillow. Derek still refuses to let Tally actually sleep with them—she has a crib, and he doesn’t want her in the habit—but he does like the way Stiles wants to cuddle them both, before he sleeps at night.

Tally does seem transfixed, dragging a hand down Derek’s cheek and then whacking him with it a few times.

“Gentle,” Stiles chides, “Don’t hit daddy! Actually, don’t hit anyone.”

He takes her tiny hand, and says, “Here, try it this way. Isn’t this fun?” He helps her run her finger the other way, against the growth, and she giggles at the way it scratches.

“So I take it you don’t think I should shave?” Derek asks dryly.

“Never,” Stiles croons, reaching over to stroke his face himself. “It’s so rugged, just like a real werewolf.”

Stiles looks at them both for a minute, propped up on one elbow. “When will she shift?” He asks quietly, like he’s been thinking about it for a while.

“Soon,” Derek says, “Her eyes could change any day. She probably won’t shift fully—claws and fangs—until closer to her first birthday.”

“Is it going to be dangerous for me?” Stiles blurts, in that same way, like it’s been on his mind, like he’s been worrying.

Derek frowns. “It shouldn’t be. She might be a little more volatile around full moons, but even then. She’s still a baby. Even with increased strength for her age you’ll be stronger, and her teeth and claws will still be tiny. The worst you could expect is a few scratches, but I’m hoping to avoid that. Part of the process is helping them learn control young. The real problem is when they don’t have enough control yet by the time they have to be around other kids. Cora almost started kindergarten a year late because she was still struggling with her shift.”

Stiles nods, determinedly. “I want to be here the whole time. I just didn’t know if it would be possible.”

“We’ll be fine,” Derek says.

He gets up to put the baby down—they like to settle her in her crib and read her a story every night, they’re trying to establish a routine to help get her to sleep through the night—and when he settles her in his arms, she looks at him and says, “Dada.”

“Holy shit,” Stiles says, sitting straight up.

“Tally?” Derek says, but she just blinks at him.

“Holy shit!” Stiles says again.

“It’s probably…” Derek says, flustered, filled with emotion, “It’s just a sound she likes making, it doesn’t mean anything. Cora used to call everything that, our dad, the sofa, airplanes…”

“Dada,” Tally says again, and Derek has to swallow against the burn in his throat.

“I,” he says, and Stiles knee walks across the bed until he can drape his long arms around Derek’s waist, where he’s still standing, frozen, by the bed.

“She means you, Der,” he says softly, “Didn’t you baby? Yeah, you know who your daddy is. We’ve been working on that, haven’t we sweetheart.”

“That’s—” Derek says, still searching for words, “I—”

“It’s okay,” Stiles says, kissing his neck. “I understand.”

…

Stiles isn’t much better when she says his name—or some approximation of it, at least—a few weeks later. He actually _does_ cry, and Derek takes video.

And then he confesses that he’d spent the last two weeks pretty much obsessively repeating his name to Tally until she’d caught on. He was right. Stiles’ reaction had been worth every minute.

…

Tally’s eyes flash gold for the first time a few days before the Green Corn Moon in August, just weeks after her half birthday, and Derek mentally braces himself for Wednesday night.

Even now, full moons are not pleasant for him. She won’t shift fully this time, probably, but she’ll be able to feel the itch of the moon pull, perhaps even the phantom pricks of fangs and claws. Full moons never _hurt,_ really, not on their own, but they’re uncomfortable and strange feeling, driving the wolf wild and raw.

Stiles ends up having a shift that night, which he’s less than happy about, but personally, Derek is glad for it. It will be hard enough with just the two of them, and, despite his earlier reassurances, he doesn’t want Stiles hurt.

He doesn’t want Stiles to have to watch Tally hurt, either.

She begins to wail at sunset, when the moon’s power begins to wax, and it will only get worse throughout the night, Derek knows. There’s nothing he can do—she’s not in true pain, not enough to take from her—but God, he hates to watch her suffer like this.

Around midnight, her sobs start to fade, out of pure exhaustion more than anything. He’s been pacing with her all night, briefly distracting her with toys and books and bouncing songs, but nothing works for long. He’d stripped his shirt off a few hours in, remembering that skin-to-skin contact is supposed to be soothing, and it did seem to help, if only for a few minutes.

Finally, he walks her into their room and lays on the bed, both of them utterly drained, and holds her carefully to his chest.

She calms a little when he has her settled, and it hits him like a jolt of electricity—he would know—when he realizes what it means, the way she’s straining her head towards Stiles’ abandoned pillow.

“Oh, sweetheart,” He murmurs, sitting up again, leaving his baby safely in the middle of the bed, “Of course you’re missing him tonight, aren’t you, missing your pack. Missing your Papa.”

His throat goes dry, suddenly, his mind racing, because… he’s _thought_ about it, of course, about Stiles being here all the time, about him helping him raise his baby, how of course he was filling a parental role, but he’d never thought it so concretely, never in the way he is now: Stiles is her father, as much as I am.

And that’s going to be a conversation to have, once he deals with his upset daughter.

So he rummages through the hamper until he finds one of Stiles’ undershirts—not truly dirty, but saturated in his scent.

He slips it over Tally’s head, rucking up the bottom so she can kick her little legs, and she settles, coos happily, and takes his finger in her fist.

“That’s better, isn’t it my love,” Derek says, stroking his hand over her downy soft head. She blinks at him once, twice, eyes fading from gold back to hazel as he watches, and she drifts off to sleep.

…

Stiles comes home an hour later to find them both dozing on the bed—Derek still shirtless, hand on Tally’s head as she sucks her bottom lip, still swaddled in a white men’s T-shirt.

“How did it go?” Stiles asks softly when he climbs into bed on Tally’s other side, seeing Derek stir.

“It was hard,” Derek says, “But it got better.”

“Hmm,” Stiles says, rubbing Tally’s belly in sympathy, “I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I will be next time.” He’s quiet for a moment, and then—“Is this my shirt?”

“I told you it got better,” Derek whispers, “She wanted to scent you. It’s comforting to have pack around. You’re probably her anchor. Well, we are.”

“I’m glad I helped, I guess,” Stiles says, “But I’m still staying back next time. No matter what.”

“I thought of you as her father,” Derek confesses. “Earlier tonight, when I went to find your shirt. I thought, ‘of course, she wants her papa.’”

He knows he must sound nervous to Stiles’ carefully attuned ears.

“Derek, that’s—” he swallows. “I mean, she’s your daughter. I’m happy to just be here. But it’s more than I’d ever hoped for.”

“So it would be okay, if we taught her to call you that?” Derek asks, still sounding unsure. “I mean, you’re twenty-two. That’s young for most people to want to be called a father. To want to be one.”

“I would love it,” Stiles insists. “I feel like it’s true. Derek, my life hasn’t gone the way I thought it would when I was ten, okay? I mean, it got messed up, even way before the whole werewolf thing, you know? My mom died, I was a mess…  So yeah, I’ll admit, it’s not like I ever said, ‘hmm, I’d really like a child right after I graduate college.’ But I’m also happier than I ever thought I’d be. I never thought I’d get to have someone like you, or someone like Tally. I’m right here with you, okay? So that means I’m her dad, too, right?”

“Right,” Derek says. If Tally wasn’t laying between them, he would already have cut Stiles off, pulled him into an embrace that Stiles would complain about later, when his ribs creaked. As it is, he just reaches for his hand.

“I never thought I’d even have a true pack again,” he confesses. “And it’s… a lot. I don’t always know how to say it. But I want to make it official, someday. With you, and Talia, and our whole family.”

“Someday,” Stiles repeats, and he props himself up on an elbow, careful of their daughter, and leans over to kiss him. “Someday it is, then.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is love--drop me a line to let me know what you thought!
> 
> And come fuel my addiction by prompting and/or flailing with me over at my [tumblr](http://iddayidnight.tumblr.com/)!!


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